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emptymasks · 2 months ago

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They're done! I really want to try and make prints again as it's been years and I've never felt like I was very good at making whole posters. Dipping my toe back in with these silly chibis of each Papa with every Ghoul they've had. Perhaps they can also work as a guide for those wanting to learn all the characters? I added in a fair amount of little references with the Ghoul's poses so it'll be interesting to see what you guys figure out and notice!

The prints are on pre-order and won't ship out until November. I've put up 25 of each to start with but if they get low on stock I'll keep adding more until I have them printed and then it'll be a set amount in stock.

Also a reminder about the stickers of every Ghost Papa and Ghoul that I made earlier this year that are also available as customisable badges! Thank you so much to everyone who already bought them and got Etsy to list them as a 'bestseller' for a while. They're still up and in stock.

EDIT: someone informed me Delta was not in Secondo's era so sorry little water ghoul but he got edited out of that drawing.

Characters featured on the prints and are also available on stickers and badges: Papa Emeritus I / Primo, Papa Emeritus II / Secondo, Papa Emerirus III / Terzo, Papa Emeritus IV / Cardinal Copia, Aether, Air, Alpha / Fire, Aurora, Chain / Water, Cirrus, Cowbell, Cumulus, Delta, Dewdrop / Sodo, Earth, Ifrit, Ivy, Lake, Mist, Mountain, Omega / Quintessence, Pebble, Phantom, Phil / Special Ghoul, Rain, Sunshine, Swiss, Zephy.

I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post from tag search results, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️

[ID: Four landscape drawings, one for each of Ghost's Papas and the Ghouls that were in the band with them while they were the lead singer. Each Papa is in the center with each of their ghouls standings to their sides. Every character has their name written above or below them, on brightly coloured backgrounds for each Papa's robe colour. Also, individual pixel art chibi drawings of 69 characters from various European musicals (listed above) that are available as stickers. These drawings are also available as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]

For those who want to know what the little references in the prints are and don't want to guess, they're under the cut:

Omega can be a stompy boy when he's playing guitar, Alpha likes to throw up peace signs, Air is very found of the rock horns hand symbol, there's one close-up photo of Lake out there where you can clearly see his black sclera contacts and he's doing double 'horns' hand symbol, Mountain infamously takes his shoes off when playing the drums and leaves them on the stage at the site of his drumkit, Dewdrop likes to like.. most things including his guitar and his picks and sometimes his own hand, Pebble liked to hand out his drumsticks at the end of shows by dropkicking them into the crowd, Omega wore a flower tucked into his guitar strap during one show and Terzo constantly flirts with him more than other ghouls, Delta is suspected to be the ghoul that attempted to kick an audience member off stage when they climbed onstage and attempted to kiss Terzo, Zephyr was the only band member and only keyboardist who sat down while playing, the special ghoul played by Tobias wore a nametag 'Phil' in an interview, Swiss constantly is showing all his teethies with his smiles and always wiggling and moving around, Aether and Dewdrop often interact with Dew teasing/bothering Aether, Dew and Rain also often interact with Dew constantly reaching to grab his neck and attempt to kiss him, aaaand I think that's everything I intentionally included other than just generally tried to get the poses and expressions to match the personality we've seen from each ghoul.

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kitten4sannie · 9 months ago

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ɪɴᴅᴜꜱᴛʀʏ ʙᴀʙʏ

ᴄᴜᴄᴋᴏʟᴅ/ᴄᴜᴍ ᴘʟᴀʏ ➠ ᴍɪɴɢɪ/ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

pairing: singer/rapper bf! mingi x fem! reader x guitarist! hongjoong

genre: band au, smut

summary: your bf’s band has such a good set, that he doesn’t mind sharing you with the handsy guitarist. anything for his baby. he just wants to assess the damage afterwards.

w.c: 3.2k

warnings: open relationship, mentioned alcohol/drugs use, dom! mingi/hongjoong, joongie’s got a tongue piercing ^^, sub! reader, so muchhh cucky behavior, mxm if you squint, teasing, perversion, dirty talk, degradation, pet names, fingering, oral (receiving), voyeurism/exhibitionism, unprotected rough sex, actual phone sex, creampie, two seconds of cockwarming, cum eating, more oral and fingering, some clit nibbling, squirting

a/n: urgghh im obsessed with tunnel and mingi and hongjoong’s guitar solo and just minjoong in general hhhhhnn also idkw happened but hongjoong is giving me more and more brainworms these days and i just i’m uhhhhh 🧎🏻‍♀️so yeah please enjoy whatever this is <33

Now Playing:

ᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀʟ ʙᴀᴛʜ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

You were always full of nerves before your boyfriend’s band went on, especially when the previous band was finishing up their encore. Hanging out backstage was always hectic too, the venue’s employees running around like headless chickens in pursuit of completing the latest task their manager gave them, members of other bands and their entourages engaging in boisterous conversations, drinking, and doing drugs amongst themselves, their actions up to par with the touring lifestyle. It wasn’t until you ran into the guitarist of your boyfriend’s band, Hongjoong, that your nerves doubled, but for a different reason.

“Y/N, there you are. Where have you been, huh?” Hongjoong greeted you with a hug, resting his solo cup against your lower back, his free hand moving down to your ass, squeezing it a few times through your skirt, sighing against your skin, his body relaxing against yours. “I missed my stress toy…”

“Joong,” you whined, pushing gently at his leather bound chest, your hand almost getting tangled in one of his silver chained necklaces. “You always get so grabby before a show. What if Mingi sees?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, leaning his face into your neck, alcohol on his breath. “You know he wants to see it. And it’s not my fault I can't keep my hands off you. Just look at you…” The buzzed guitarist gazed down at your body with hooded eyes, his jaw tightening up more and more the longer he pictured what you looked like folded up for him and taking everything he had to give. “You’d look so good underneath me, baby. Spread open all nice and wide…fuck….”

“Joongie, please…” you whispered, squeezing your thighs together, pressing your back into the concrete wall behind you, feeling him press further into you as a result.

“You can beg for me after the show, sweetheart. Just let me get a peek, okay?” Knowing he had you right where he wanted you, Hongjoong slowly ran a calloused finger along your jaw, down your neck to your rising chest, pleased with the way your breath hitched, his dark eyes flitting between your gaze and the slope of your bare tits through your thin white tank top, unable to resist pulling down the neckline of your top until he had a good view of your pebbled nipples. “Look at that. You’re just aching to be touched, aren’t you?”

You were so wet, you could’ve sworn that you were about to drip all over the backstage floor, barely able to form any coherent words besides a small ‘yeah’, letting the perverted guitarist grab at your hips, his fingers pressing into your hip bones, a low groan leaving his lips.

“Wanna fuck you, baby, wanna make you mine,” Hongjoong sighed into your ear, about to describe his needs in detail and put his hands all over you when Mingi came around the corner, a lollipop poking through his cheek, his ringed fingers rubbing at the mascara near his lash line.

Mingi stopped in his tracks, towering over the both of you due to the studded boots he always wore during his shows. He studied you, noticing how flushed you were and how hard you were already breathing. He couldn’t help but to pull his sweet lollipop out to bite at his plump lip, his cock ready to come to life. “Oh? What’s this about, sugar?”

“Babyy, there you are,” you greeted, bouncing on your heels, making grabby hands at your boyfriend.

In return, Mingi lifted you up and spun you around in a tight hug, making sure to press a kiss to your cheek before putting you back down in front of his favorite bandmate.

“Joongie’s being all needy again,” you giggled, leaning back against Hongjoong’s chest.

“Can’t help it.” Hongjoong casually handed his drink to Mingi who took it and knocked it back, wrapping his arms around you from behind, leaning his head on your shoulder, a sickening smirk gracing his feline-like lips. “Hey, Minnie. Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” Mingi licked at the corner of his salivating mouth, pulling at the crotch of his heavy, chained pants, his cock pressed against one of his thighs, growing harder just from seeing the way you fit perfectly inside his bandmate’s arms. Shit.

“If I nail my guitar solo tonight, will you let me have Y/N for a night?” Hongjoong requested, nuzzling his face against your heated cheek, making a small pouty face at his dear bandmate.

Mingi knew he shouldn’t be getting this worked up before a show, but it might make him perform better if he was thinking about how bad he wanted you, and how he couldn’t have you until Hongjoong did. He knew the odds of Hongjoong hitting every single note perfectly was a 50/50 chance. His chances were even lower if he had access to a bottle of jack that night, though Mingi was aware that his bandmate was quite skilled with his calloused fingers, only knowing because you wouldn’t shut up about it a few nights ago.

The lead singer decided he would push all his chips onto the table, knowing he would have his darling to himself either way. You belonged to him, whether you were filled with another man’s load or not. “Sure, as long as you make sure my baby cums.” He sent a charming smile your way, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, chuckling softly when you pressed a kiss to the side of his thumb, your lips making contact with the cold metal of his large skull ring.

“Hear that, princess? Min wants me to have you,” Hongjoong purred into your ear from the other side. “And so do you, huh? Is that cunt of yours dripping already? I think we should have a litle peek...” Knowing all three of you would enjoy it, the guitarist snaked his hands around your waist from behind, lifting your skirt up for only Mingi to see, rubbing his rough fingers along your bare cunt.

“I-i heard,” you gasped, grasping at Mingi’s oversized sweater, your fingers going into one of the torn holes it had, leaning your head back against Hongjoong’s shoulder, trying not to make any noise when Mingi joined in, slipping two of his fingers into your pulsing cunt, the feeling of his rings stretching you out further making you jolt.

“You know what I hear? How fucking wet you already are for us.” Hongjoong said into your ear, his digits rubbing roughly into your clit, his eyes on Mingi’s hooded ones, licking at his lips. “Your girlfriend is such a slut, Min. God, I love it.”

“She loves it too,” Mingi replied in a gravelly voice, stepping a little closer to cage you against Hongjoong, pushing the lollipop into your mouth to watch you suck on it. “But you still belong to me…Don’t you, baby?”

“Of course, Minnie. I’m only yours.” You nodded obediently up at him, crunching some of the lollipop in between your teeth when Mingi added another digit inside your tight hole, your thighs trembling slightly.

“That’s my girl.” Your boyfriend gave you a pretty smile, pressing his hand against the wall near your head to further display his dominance over you, his eyes fixed on your submissive gaze, and the way you just let him fill you up with his thick fingers, his bandmate’s fingers still working you clit like he would would a six string. “Fuck…you’re so sexy like this, baby…”

“Try not to blow your load before the show,” Hongjoong mused, his smirk growing more and more reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat’s. He was about to tease Mingi more when the previous band sang their last angsty lyric and shredded their remaining guitar notes, silence filling up the air for only a moment, before there was an immediate uproar of rowdy cheers and shouts from the pumped up crowd.

Your boyfriend’s band was up next and you couldn’t wait to watch them from the sidelines, ready to catch their occasional hungry glances, knowing they were ready to tear you apart once they finished their heavy, energy filled set.

Mingi delivered as usual, showing off his impressive duality, going from spitting quick, head-turning bars with a devilish smirk on his sweaty face, to expressing emotional, thought provoking lyrics with a soft, expressive voice that would have anyone shedding a tear, his face contorted in melancholic concentration, his hands wrapped tightly around his mic, his dominating stage presence alone having the entire venue in a chokehold throughout the entire set.

Hongjoong arguably delivered just as well, consistently shredding notes on his sleek guitar with a borderline psychotic look in his eyes and a heinous grin that would make the Devil himself blush, working his rough, agile fingers song after heavy song, never failing to provide Mingi with his own unique back-up vocals. And just like clockwork, despite being a bit tipsy and high on some kind of illegal drug, Hongjoong captivated the large audience with his infamous guitar solo, making everybody in the crowd cream themselves with his nasty riffs. All Hongjoong could do after was push back his sweaty hair and send Mingi a shit-eating smirk, that was returned with a soft chuckle and head shake. He made sure to give you a look too, though this time he had his fingers held up in a V, his pierced tongue sticking out in between them.

You were in for a busy night.

࿏࿏࿏

“Hey, eyes on me, baby…” Hongjoong commanded in a low whisper from below you, sitting comfortably on his knees, using his thumbs to keep your cunt spread open for him, watching you writhe around against the wall of the spacious hotel shower, beads of water dripping through his damp bangs and past his smudged eyeliner, pooling in the crevices of his collar bone, the rest trickling down along his dangling necklaces.

He had easily coaxed you inside his hotel room, not having to do much to get you in his shower, claiming he needed to cool down after giving it his all during the show — though he still made sure to give you his all during your own private show, using his calloused, dexterous fingers to play with your body, delighted with the pretty, wanton sounds he created, wanting nothing more than to write a song about how delicious you looked in that moment — flushed, transfixed on his pierced tongue lapping at your throbbing clit, and moaning out the little pet name you gave him.

“That’s it….” The side of his lips quirked up a bit at the pout you gave him, before he pursed them and sent a wad of spit directly into you, pushing two fingers back inside you to rub it around your tight, pulsing walls. “I love when you look at me like that.”

“Like what, Joong?” you breathed out, running your fingers through his wet hair, gripping the sides of his head, your thighs beginning to feel like jelly from the way Hongjoong was finger-fucking you into ecstasy.

“Like you want my cock,” he sighed, unable to keep himself from diving back into your cunt, lapping at your clit and slit like a pussydrunk maniac, easily slipping a third finger inside you.

“I do…! I need your cock, Joongie, please,” you moaned out, so close to your high that you began to push his face into your cunt, rubbing it against his moving tongue, his piercing repeatedly catching on your clit, driving more pleasured moans out of you, neither of you aware in that moment that your dear perverted boyfriend sat on the other side of the wall, standing fully clothed in his own shower and jerking himself off with fervid desperation, his jeans hanging loosely around his jolting hips.

“You’ll have it, baby, I promise. Cum on my tongue first,” he said with his lips against your soaked cunt, curling his fingers and rubbing at the gummy spot inside you, sending you over the edge, sticking his tongue out to catch your arousal on it, his cock throbbing at the sound of his name mixed with swears being cried out by his bandmate’s pretty girlfriend.

Soon, you grew docile and dazed, wrapping your limbs around him as soon as he stood up and carried you over to his bed, not wasting any time sending a few drops of spit down onto your hot cunt and plugging it up with his thick cock.

Mingi felt like he was going to melt, his brain and body going into overdrive over the fact that his beloved bandmate was busy putting a baby in his baby, making her feel so good she was starting to cry, his cock throbbing inside his closed fist, listening closely to the pants and moans that made their way into his pierced, attentive ears, along with the incessant creaking of the mattress springs — though the disruptive banging sounds of the wooden bedframe hitting the thin wall contended for Mingi’s attention as well.

“Joong..! It’s so good, you’re so good,” he heard you whine out in a broken voice, not hearing the rest of your cries due to Hongjoong stuffing two fingers into your willing mouth. Mingi couldn’t help but want to drown in his sin, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

You looked to your phone with half-closed eyes, watching the way it buzzed against the moving mattress, your legs suddenly getting closer to your body, Hongjoong lifting your lower half up to fuck into you even deeper than before, rendering you speechless from the pressure of his heated body on yours.

“Answer it, baby,” Hongjoong huffed from above you, his necklaces dragging along your flushed skin with each sloppy thrust, blowing a bit of wet hair out of his half-lidded eyes.

“Mingi,” you sighed into the receiver, trying to catch your breath, knowing you were on the edge of ecstasy with the way your body was starting to feel heavy, despite the feeling like you were ready to float away. “I’m gonna cum, baby, it– aaah, oh my god…!”

“Cum for me, princess. Let me hear how pretty you sound cumming on his cock,” Mingi moaned back, squeezing his hand around his length, his eyes ready to roll underneath his eyelids.

Hongjoong put his entire body weight onto you, his lips sliding across your neck to leave a few marks, his cock throbbing against your tight inner walls, pounding into you a few more times before he painted them white. “M’ cumming inside your girl, Minnie, it’s feel so fucking good…”

It was when Hongjoong bit down onto your neck that you catapulted over the edge, grabbing at the guitarist’s bare back, digging your nails into his skin. “Mingiii, he’s filling me up…it won’t stop…”

“Oh god, baby, oh my god.” Mingi huffed and huffed, his entire body tensing up as he drove himself over the edge right after you, splashes of cum landing on his rapidly rising chest and abdomen.

You simply laid there making small squeaks from the aftershocks of your orgasm, while Hongjoong stayed put inside you, his soft, deflated cock suddenly twitching with newfound interest, a light bulb appearing inside his hazy brain. “Min, I want you to come over here. You need to see the mess I made inside your girlfriend…”

And just like that, Mingi made his way over to the next door hotel room, fumbling with his loose pants and the doorknob, wiggling till it unlocked. He kicked his jeans off once inside the half-lit room, climbing onto the bed to join the both of you, having the same intensely horny, almost deranged look in his eye that he usually had before a show.

“Baby, look,” you sighed out, spreading your thighs open, while Hongjoong pulled out inch by inch, until a flood of creamy white liquid bubbled out of your pulsing hole, dripping down your thighs and onto the already damp mattress below.

Before Mingi could properly access the arousing situation, drool falling from his moaning mouth, Hongjoong suddenly grabbed him by the hair, pushing his head down in between your legs. “You wanna clean it up, don’t you, Minnie? Come on, be a good boy and lick up the mess I left inside her.”

Blushing, Mingi lapped at the mess of cum and slick, using his fingers to scoop the rest out into his eager mouth, Hongjoong’s hand still pressing his face further into your used cunt, eventually letting go when he started to go at it, watching his bandmate’s tongue swipe at your clit and slit. Mingi didn’t even seem to notice, too busy drowning in his baby’s sweet cunt to have any awareness, his hands clutching your trembling thighs.

“Gonna cum again,” you whined out, unable to speak when your boyfriend suddenly lifted his fingers up to your mouth to suck on them, his lips sucking around your sensitive clit, his dark, glazed over eyes focused solely on the way you seemed to completely fall apart in front of his and his best friend.

“Think you can get her to squirt?” Hongjoong asked from beside him, resting one of his hands on your moving thighs, holding it down so that you couldn’t close them.

Mingi glanced over at Hongjoong, rolling his mascara-smudged eyes, knowing exactly what to do to make his baby feel so good she sobbed. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, instead pushing three of them inside you, curling them up until you cried out. With his other hand, he forcefully pushed Hongjoong’s head down onto your cunt next. “Lick,” he commanded gruffly, concentrating solely on fucking you into ecstasy with his thick fingers.

Moaning against your cunt, Hongjoong lapped and nibbled on your throbbing clit, his cold piercing dragging over your sensitive flesh, feeling his bandmate’s fingers tugging at his hair, eliciting another muffled moan from him.

“Bite it. Bite her clit and make her cum,” Mingi demanded through gritted teeth, working your cunt like he always did, enjoying the sight of you writhing around, unable to speak or think, knowing his pretty baby was experiencing some of the best pleasure of her life thanks to him and his friend.

It was when Hongjoong bit down and moved your clit in between his teeth, Mingi’s fingers still moving relentlessly inside your clenching cunt, that you screamed, your boyfriend’s slick-covered fingers going back into your mouth to keep you from waking up everyone else in the hotel. Both bandmates watched as a small fountain of liquid squirted from your pulsing cunt, seeping into the mattress and turning it dark.

A few moments of silence went by, before Hongjoong gave Mingi a sickening smile. “Bet you can’t get her to do that with your cock.”

Mingi shook his head, blowing his wet bangs out of his eyes. “Of course I can. She’s my baby. I know her body like the back of my hand. I’ll make her drench the both of us.”

Hongjoong giggled softly, tilting his head to the side, his eyes flitting from you to Mingi. “Wanna make a bet?”

You were definitely in for a long night.

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ladybyakuya · 4 months ago

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| BRAZIL + TASUKU TSUBAKINO.

+cw. — advisor!Tasuku Tsubakino x fem!singer!reader, musical au,band au, bofurin as band, mention of show pub ougi bar so manga spoilers, first meeting, usage of some canonical elements, rockstar!umemiya hajime, angst,hurt, misunderstanding ( ? ), confession, smut, mature content ahead. title based on song brazil by Declan McKenna

+wc. — 2k

+syn.— Tsubaki likes you while you know that he loves umemiya hajime and that is where jealousy comes into play but when it does it always turns the world upside down.

+notes. — this is a collab piece via wind breaker server ( the bofurin brothel ) hosted by our beloved mel ( @gimme-hiragi ). i used tsubaki instead of tsubakino because that's how he likes to be addressed. he is one of my favs >:)). dividers by cafekitsune | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — @stunie @prettyiwa

The stage curtains are drawn out granting a manageable access for the sunlight to pour into the empty stage. The pebble bar lights are not alive. There is no need for those but only during nights. Tsubaki is staring at the stage with a daze in his eyes as you connect the chords, set the microphone, and grab the headphones. For someone who can ignite the dormant rhythm in people’s hearts with the melody of your voice, you are an eerily silent soul. You clean the headphones with your handkerchief before putting it on. The only sound that could be heard was breathing: one was even like a pond while the other was uneven like a mountain range. Despite how quiet you are, Tsubaki can still pick up the rhythm of your body and soul: the footsteps, the breathing, Tsubaki watches as you take the stance of singing in front of the microphone. He always does. He comes every Friday morning to watch you practice and as for you, you practice singing without any instruments or gadgets every morning, when the entire bar is in deep slumber. Clearing your throat, you start to sing but at first, just with wordless tunes, scaling your voice.

The lyrics:

{ heard he lives down a river somewhere

With six cars and a grizzly bear

He's got eyes, but he can't see

Well, he talks like an angel, but he looks like me

Oh, Lord

Oh, Lord }

Tsubaki rests his chin in between the slit of his index finger and thumb, elbow fixed on the table beside the glass of a strawberry milkshake. His eyes straw away due to the jingle of the bell coming from afar that is located at the apex of the back door. Someone is here. Tsubaki can not see them until they step into the main arena. Maybe they are from the staff section he consoles himself. He looks at you to check if you are expecting someone’s arrival at this time of the day but he finds you immersed in your voice. With those headphones on he doubts you could barely hear anything.

The thing is your Friday mornings solely belong to Tsubaki so anyone else is just noise to him but you do not know that. You know that every Friday morning he turns up sharp at 9 o clock without his twin bodyguards. He murmurs under his breath, “The music you play in bars is more real than what I play in stadiums.” and sips the strawberry milkshake through the pink straw.

You cover the microphone with your palm; moving your head away from it a little you retort tartly. “Oh? That’s new. Are you mocking bofurin?”

Tsubaki's red lips have a tinge of the pinkish milkshake he just sipped. He could not even gulp it down. Azure eyes go static, a palm over his mouth. Awkward. Waiting.

“That’s what I thought. You could never,” you chime with a smile plastered on your face that you often maneuver during interaction of any sort with customers. He finally gulps down the strawberry milkshake. It feels stale and does not help with either the heat or the bubbling tension amongst his chest ribs. The moment you were about to sing again, your eyes switched to the entrance of the bar lounge.

Tsubaki’s sky lake eyes follow as he murmurs, “Umemiya-kun. . .?” it sparkles as if the sun shone upon him after a cloudy day.

Your mouth fell open ajar. How courageous of Umemiya to roam as free as a bird carrying all the fame and fortune on his back. “I hope you’re not looking for a place to hide, Haji.” you quipped gaining the attention of pair of eyes in the room.

Umemiya swigs his palm in front of his face exclaiming with zest, “No. No. Not at all.” He walks towards the stage and stands in front of you. Now, you can see both: Tsubaki and Umemiya. “Can’t I come visit an old friend?”

That would be unusual for a rockstar of his status. He has just started new heights. Recklessness sure follows wherever there is popularity and financial prosperity. Even with all that, it is unusual for him to pay an unscheduled visit for him. Could it be he is out in the wild, hinting at his muse?

“you’re stuck.” Umemiya’s gigantic smile disappears instantly. Oh! That must be it. He is stuck with his music. “Bingo.”

“Hmmm. That's what I thought. I mean you can’t afford to pay a visit like this unless you need me.”You pull his leg a little as Tasuku fidgets with the hem of his dress revealing a fair amount of this thigh. How tactless! Or could be intentional? There is a bleak prospect of that so for the better or worse you do not follow the trail of that thought. It's your jealousy wrapped with anger trying to stretch your heartstrings and release it, snapping the string and rewarding you with a bleeding heart.

You excuse yourself for a minute because it truly feels like someone is already tugging at your heartstrings and it's none other than Tsubaki. The way he acts around Umemiya bothers you. The way he acts around you clams your heart but you can not run after that tranquility. Never. Not in this life.

By the time, you come back Tsubaki has already left and Umemiya is sitting, waiting for you by the window side. He spends nearly half an hour trying to schedule a time with you and you can not lie to him. You can not lie to him even if you want to because you have to appease Tsubaki. So, if you agree with him, help him with whatever problem he is facing.

It was decided that after a gig, the next weekend his staff would come and pick you up from your house and drop you at his house. And, when the work is done his staff will drop you back to your house.

The next morning strikes with a devastation deadlier than death.

There is a photo of you and Umemiya on the front page. It is blurred just a little enough to not recognize your face but people around you can tell easily that it’s you. Tsubaki certainly can. That’s the only thing that matters, not the contents of the photo or how ambiguous it is. You and Umemiya are standing close to each other, closer than normal people. He is touching your earring and the angle of the photo makes it seem that he is touching your cheek. Damn! These paparazzi. You try not to call any of the Bofurin members because by now the must be busy handling the situation, especially Tsubaki being Umemiya’s sole advisor. It is almost mid-day. You throw the paper in the dustbin and pour liquor before burning it. Sure, you are jealous of Umemiya but you do not pray for his down fall. It makes you feel horrible to even think such a case. If this the price of love you have to pay, you would rather fall out of love. As if you can afford to do that. You can perhaps but not now. You have your reputation to protect.

A few nights later, after your first show when you walk back to your green room you find Tsubaki waiting in your green room without the lights on in the dark Your green room is nothing out of the ordinary except for him. He is like a cilantro in dessert. He does not belong here, in the world of booze and cheap bar lights.

“What’re you doing here?” you try to sound angry, even annoyed but it is the shock that he hears the most, maybe a fear hidden underneath your voice. So, he does not leave the chair but rather folds his legs, one over the other. The taut and toned muscles of his legs are on vivid display making it even harder for you to focus.

“It was easy. I sneaked in.” He responds with so much detest in his heart that it makes you think he is mad about the photo. But he has no right to be, you remind yourself. After all, he is the one to choose to turn a blind eye to your feelings.

“Well, I have another performance so you have to wait.” you tartly spoke walking towards the mirror for some touch-up. Tsubaki watches you as you put lipstick on your lips.

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Let me answer you with a question.” You turn your face to him, your hand still being kept on the wooden skin of the dressing table. “Why do you think I didn’t join Bodurin?”

“So, it's true. The rumors are true.” This guy . . .

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The opened lipstick clatters among the cosmetics separating the maroon part from the lipstick case as you throw it away. Tsubaki does not say a word; just spares a glance at the smudged part of your lips, must have happened when you swatted it away.

“All this time, I thought you . . .you liked him. You liked him.” Tsubaki exclaims in a low voice leaving his seat and coming close to you. “So, I restrained myself. I kept reminding myself—” his fingers linger on your chin. “ That you are not mine to own.” Right! How could you not think of this? Tsubaki the smudged part of the lipstick and you let him. “Now, i don’t have to do that.” he whispers against your lips. You gulp. He still has not let go of your chin. You don’t think he is going to . . . kiss you, right? He chins your face up a little expanding a little more access towards your collar bones. Tsubaki jocks down, kisses on your exposed collarbone. Just a peck. “That will do for now. Will quiet down the rumors too.” Tsubaki smiles. You look at the mirror to check your reflection. There it is the lipstick mark, as bright as a diamond. You do not dare to wipe it off. You don’t want to.

Tsubaki stands behind you as you watch yourself in all glory. He moves aside the fall of your hair onto your left shoulder. You tilt your head, eyes glistening as you look at him through the mirror. There is hope. Want. Lust. Desire. . . Tsubaki wet his lips seeing you inviting him but he can not do that, not here. You have a show to host, and people to entertain. So, he unzips your dress exposing your skin. You must either be wearing a backless bra or nipple pads. If not none, you are getting an earful from him later but for now, he proceeds to place a trail of kisses, slow and full all over your back. It is frustrating how you can not see his face or the lipstick marks he left on your back.

Tsubaki stands up after kissing you till the dress would allow him. He zips it up as he stands. “I’ll wait for your show to be over. Then, after the show we are going home.” He whispers into your ear but he is too close so you shrink feeling ticklish all over your body. A few days ago he felt light years away, so out of your reach and now he is standing behind you, as close as he can get for now.

“I’ll hurry after the show if . . .” you can finally find your voice now. Wait, can you sing properly? Of course, you can; you reassure yourself.

“Oh don’t worry.” Tsubaki interrupts. “ I’ll make sure we will make up for all the time we have lost love.” He holds your hand assuring you that it's okay; he is not running anymore; he is not. If anything, he feels repentance for suffering all these years regretting his feelings for you but now that bitter feeling has sublimed he is so full of love that it feels like his heart will burst at the seams. It's not suffocating anymore. It’s liberating. Love is liberating. OH DEAR! What blind fool he has been to not to see the love you have for him in those galactic eyes.

@underratedcharactercorner @interstellar-inn

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keydekyie · 1 month ago

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The Drover's Shadow

[closeups and possible book IV snippet below the cut]

742 words, no content warnings

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The little valley was cut through by a river that had carved out a sandy, pebbly ravine. On the far side, trundling along like little bundles of fuzz in the wind, was a drove of wegs. Their piggy snouts were turned up in caution to the wind, and their robe-clad drover strode among them with a bent crook. The drover stopped and stared when Ruyak came into sight, letting the drove shuffle past along the grassy hill.

Kaelin waved in greeting, and after a hesitant moment, the drover raised the crook in return.

It was a sizable drove, at least two dozen head, and probably large enough for two drovers, or at least a drover with a rodi for help, but the wegs were led obediently enough by their singular drover, and seemed perfectly willing to continue on their way in the opposite direction Ruyak was heading.

“They’re going up into the highlands for the season,” Kaelin said to Ruyak conversationally. “The cold air makes the fleece thicker.”

Ruyak didn’t reply, just kept moving at a steady pace.

“Did you ever see droves in your family’s territory?”

“Sometimes,” Ruyak muttered, and his tone was startlingly bleak. Kaelin sensed an uncomfortable subject, and so steered away from it.

“We’ll be coming to the Dakatin valley soon. The finest wool in Kellabor comes from there. The blends and techniques to make it are a trade secret, supposedly, but I’ve heard the only secret is the silk they mix in. My new nightgown is Dakatin wool.”

“It does seem very nice,” Ruyak mumbled.

“Those wegs’ wool will go to make something quite fine. They look very healthy.”

“Are they harvested at the end of the season, then?”

“Harvested? Oh, wegs aren’t killed for their wool, no. They’re shorn once a year, sometimes twice depending on the breed, I think. Although, they do make for good meat, especially if they’re grazed in forests. And their skins make excellent cloaks. So they are sometimes butchered for those reasons. But most are just shorn.”

Ruyak nodded in understanding, then a moment later he shook with a derisive laugh. “If us Kanai were smart, we’d be making good trade with drovers. Safe grazing in exchange for a bit of wool every season.” Ruyak grew somber again. “I’ve heard drovers singing in the mountains. Sometimes their roden sang with them, and even the wegs would squeal along on bright mornings. Not good singers, wegs.”

“I don’t imagine so,” Kaelin chuckled. “Enthusiastic, though.”

“Very.” Ruyak glanced back at the drover again with a smile, and slowly came to a stop, watching that lone human figure among the cloud of white wegs. Ruyak’s face twisted into a pained grimace. Worrying? Imagining the drover walking into danger up in the mountains? Where the forest’s many guardians were ready to snuff them out at the slightest provocation?

“I’m sorry to say it, Ruyak,” Kaelin murmured, “but you’re going to frighten that drover staring like that.”

“Augh, you’re right.” He shook off, as though he’d been doused with water, then turned and continued on his way. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Obviously he’d been thinking quite hard, just then, but perhaps not about that in particular. Kaelin could sense his change of mood like a storm rolling in. She knew exactly why the clouds were gathering. It was entirely possible the last weg drover Ruyak had been so close to had not survived the encounter.

“Drovers are sensible,” Kaelin told him. “They know the places that are safe.”

Ruyak pinned his ears and said nothing. Not a good sign.

So Kaelin went on, “Humans that go up into the wild places don’t venture there ignorant of the danger. They know what they are risking.”

“Then why would they risk it?”

“For their livelihoods, seeking their fortunes. Money, I mean. Or food for themselves, but usually not. Not if they are going far enough into the wilderness to meet the likes of you.”

Ruyak thought about that for a long moment, and the drover and wegs passed out of sight into the trees, each white, fluffy weg quietly vanishing. “I… I truly wish I could believe that, but I don’t think all of them…”

“Drovers know it too. We all know. As children we’re taught songs and stories and rhymes. We all know someone who never came back. Everyone knows that when you step into the dark, you might not step back out again.”

#tmatb #tmatb iv #wegs #this is still rough but I like it #snippet #writing #grace makes art

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hipsdofangirl · 3 months ago

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puppy seal love

selkie! seokmin x reader

according to wikipedia…selkies are mainly associated with the Northern Isles of Scotland, where they are said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land.

for context: i imagine selkie coats in human form to be actual jackets. in this headcanon format, the arrows are connected with the idea directly above.

major warnings: after the physical dash-lined break there is 18+ content, so MINORS please do not go past, not accurate selkie lore but i would love to know more (also my personal take on some lore), not proofread, bss mentioned,

wc: unknown

selkie! seokmin who…

- collects rocks and pebbles for you

- collects various sizes of shells

- notices your necklace lathered with charms

- misunderstood and became sad when he saw you punch tiny holes into the shells. he immediately kissed you when he saw you put them on your necklace as charms

- gets jealous easily but cover sit with a smile. he later eases into the feeling and gets over it when comfortable; however when someone new comes around the process occurs again.

↳ his jealousy isn’t normal anger, most of the time, but a longing sadness and self-deprecation, knowing that he is technically a monster in the eyes of society

- uses his seal puppy eyes (in both forms) to get what he wants from you; if you do that to him, he will squeal and literally do anything for you

- catches many fish for you and tries to outdo others as a mini way of displaying dominance; even if you don’t eat them, he still will.

- rarely talks about his true feelings and thoughts about his technical double life yet yearns for it to be resolved

↳ it’s up to you to breach that barrier and break down those walls to get him to vocalize these thoughts; after that communication is his game and you both will never not understand how the other is feeling

- has the voice of an angel and gets compliments at work (as a singer at a local bar)

↳ you get jealous when the pretty men and women go up to him and compliment/flirt. seokmin doesn’t entirely see the process of flirting and engages in conversations

↳ specifically after you both open up to each other he is able to sense your possible jealousy and politely brags about you and ropes you into the conversation

↳ sometimes he won’t though so it purposely leads to something…

- leaves his coat lying around and is patiently out of sight, waiting for you to pick it up to either hang it up, put it in his room, or when you know he is there give it or wear it

- has a habit of clapping when he laughs in both forms

- when mad he won’t say anything but you can find him often looking at the sea or in his seal form alone in his room when he thinks you aren’t there

- when you’re sad or petty-angry will turn into a seal and attempt to lay on top of you, tickling your neck with his whiskers to hear your beautiful laugh once more

- has friends who were skeptical of him having a human mate due to controversial opinions and his somewhat-gullible personality

↳ however, when seungkwan recognized you were the one friends with his vernon and chan he warmed up to you well

↳ hoshi didn’t at first and portrayed it as shyness; it wasn’t until he accidentally saw you giving seokmin’s coat back (after you guys were together) and be weary about other of their customs, he knew you were a keeper and now he won’t stop following you and keep asking to go swim with him and play fetch

↳ seokmin loves these moments of watching some of his loved ones bond but gets pouty when you pat hoshi’s form one too many times after a perfect catch

↳ seokmin will then drag you out more to practice and show off until they both want to compete with you as the ref and pitcher

- loves to circle you when swimming in his seal form; he just loves when you embrace him as he is when you cant verbally understand him

↳ even on land will unconsciously circle you playfully and always have some form of contact with you; especially when you both parade each other around.

↳ in both forms, you can imagine his wide smile and crinkling eyes as he brushes against your body

- as a child, was scared for his sister when she had to go to the surface. he knew that females were more in danger and went with her whenever he had the chance.

↳ you never met his sister or family yet. he hasn’t seen them in a while as well. sometimes, when you go to the water alone, you spot words scrawled onto the sand and you believe they may be addressed to you.

↳ when seokmin stands at the edge, tempted to fully return, he sees the same handwriting encouraging him to keep moving forward.

—————

- lets his eyes darken when you thrust your head at him whether you’re angry or joking

↳ he doesn’t have the heart (nor want you stop) to tell you that’s a sign of a female wanting to mate

- always nips your neck while his hands ensnare your waist. the first time, you turned your attention to him and he just smiled before skipping away

↳ after getting tired of his innuendos you decided to tease him back and bite his neck: you both ended up with a lot more marks later that night

↳ this new power you have found… whenever you want him in the mood just bite his neck or his biceps or thighs or just anywhere. his grunts turn into whiny moans when you bite that one sensitive spot

- makes love with you when you wear his coat; however, because you get so easily hot in it, you both can’t go for long in it. he wanted to fuck you while you wore it many times but know you can’t take the actual heat

- will nuzzle the crook of your neck after getting you both cleaned up—more kisses ensuing

- won’t feel the affects of mating season until he wears his coat. do what you want with that information and good luck.

after a few months of courting and officially being together, you researched more about selkies, desiring to understand him better. you want to read his mind. you do not dream to offend him, scared of his frail nature; as if with one small push, he would fall to the ground and shatter before scattering. after both of your efforts to make it work, you dread the thought of falling apart, crushing your perceptions of one another; it would only add more fuel to the fire regarding both of your species.

after scrounging around online, there are two conflicting hypotheses about them that caught your attention:

you hope they never come true.

1. ‘they may be reincarnations of souls of people who once drowned…coming back for mysterious reasons—good or evil.’

2. ‘eventually, selkies must return to the sea; they are to never come back till 7 years have passed.’

however, seokmin told you that selkies thrive off communication! he wouldn’t lie to you to save his own skin, right?

a/n: my first actual piece of work/draft in the notes app that i finished. i was originally gonna post a short story, but i didn’t like it,,,so i made hcs instead. that’s why you can see little bits of info that don’t make too much sense haha.

puppy dog eyes?? nah make him a water type!!!!!

i have more ideas i want to headcanon out, but i love seokmin too much; also, this being in my notes, i need to get rid of, so i can make room for svt concert vids 😋.

taglist: @jcxbliss

#seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen headcanons #seventeen hcs #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #seventeen dk #seventeen dokyeom #seventeen seokmin #seventeen x reader #seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #dk x reader

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apollophanes · 5 months ago

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Callimachus – Hymn 2: To Apollo (trans. Barry B. Powell)

Sing Iê, Iê! It is bad to quarrel with the Blessed Ones. He who wars with the Blessed Ones, may he war with my king! And he who wars with my king, let him war with Apollon! O Apollon, he will honour the band of dancers, who sing what is pleasing to his heart. He can do this because he sits at the right hand of Zeus. Nor will the band sing of Phoibos for one day only, for he is a fine subject for song. Who would not easily sing of Apollon? Golden are his garments and his clothes-clasp and his lyre and his Luktian bow and his quiver and his sandals. For Apollon is rich in gold and very wealthy, as testified by Pytho. And he is always handsome and forever young. Never has the down of manhood appeared on his blooming cheeks. His hair drips down fragrant oils on the ground. Not the oil of fat do the locks of Apollon let fall drip by drip, but the essence of healing. And in whatever city those drops fall to the ground, in that city all things are free from harm. No one has so many skills as Apollon. The archer is his lot, and the singer too—for to Phoibos belong archery and song— and to him belong those who divine with pebbles, and who prophesize the future in words. Doctors have learned from him how to put off death. Phoibos, too, we call the god of Flocks from the time when, burning with passion for the youth Admetos, he raised yoked mares by the banks of the Amprussos. Without effort the herd would increase, nor would the goats lack young when mixed with the sheep, when Apollon cast his eyes upon them as they grazed, nor were the ewes without milk or barren, but all would have lambs suckling from them, and whoever had borne one offspring would soon bear two.

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orion4ever · 1 year ago

Note

hihi!! I really love Ur writings SMSM <33(Srsly they make me giggle n kick my feet)!! And I just wanted to request Qiu and Tamarack with an MC that likes/and is good at singing? (Preferably step 2, but since I rlly don't wanna burden Step 1 would be really lovely as well)

:))

Author’s Note: *laying on my stomach on top of my bed , writing in a fluffy journal while kicking my legs back and forth and giggling*

Pairing(s): Qiu Lin x Reader and Tamarack Baumann x MC

🗒️🍂

QIU LIN🗒️

They always loved your singing , they find it one of the most satisfying sounds they’ve ever heard.

Will beg you to let them sit and listen in.

If your singing along with a song then they might just get up and start dancing along.(why did that rhyme omg , in my poet era)

You guys would make such a cute dynamic duo though

If there’s ever a talent show , they will begrudgingly hopefully ask if you want to do it together.

They joke that you should make a soundcloud and post your singing there.

You kinda ruin most music for them from how much they love your voice lol

You and your childhood friend, Qiu were hanging out in your living room. It was late, your mom was still at work and Qiu’s parents decided on a spontaneous dinner date and trusted Qiu wouldn’t get into any trouble while they were gone.

Which Qiu thought was stupid, I mean what trouble could they get into so late at night?

They sat on one of the few mismatched couches and messed around with one of your mom’s pillows that had a loose string.

You were sitting on the floor, with an older disk player near you. You had been digging around your room and found it under your bed and decided to play some music.

“Which disk do you wanna listen to? The first or the second one?” You had asked them, holding up the two shiny disks.

“I don’t care, You can pick,” Qiu replied, shrugging while holding the pillow closer to their chest. They didn’t mind what music was played, just as long as they could enjoy your company.

“The second one then” you proposed, popping it into the player and clicking ‘play’.

The both of you were happy with the choice when a soft melody rang throughout the room. It didn’t have any lyrics, it sounded like something Tamarack’s grandparents may have played in the background while entertaining guest in their “drawing room”.

“Nice,” Qiu assured, flopping down onto the couch.

The two of you sat quietly while listening to the music, you swayed a little and started to hum.

Qiu perked up at the sound but didn’t say anything, worried that you might stop out of embarrassment.

They propped up their cheek with their palm and just watched as you turned that hum into a melody with a for once, at peace smile.

They really liked your voice.

TAMARACK BAUMANN🍂

She thinks you out-sing any famous pop star or church choir any day. She honestly thinks your voice is so angelic.

She loves it when you give her mini concerts while you two walk in the woods together.

I BET both my lungs that you and Tamarack have duets 100%

You two make a lot of music together and record it on one of her Opa’s camcorders.

Her Omi asks the both of you if you can try and cover a Frank Sintra song often.

If you do choir or singing lessons either at school or music hall then expect to practice with her nearly every day.

Tamarack can never duet with another singer because they aren’t you, and can never replicate the melody.

It was late afternoon, a few hours after school ended. Tamarack sat by her windowsill, reading a book about what and what not to feed forest critters when she flinched at the sudden pang of a pebble being thrown at her window.

She decided to look out and giggled seeing who it was, she opened the window and called down.

“MC, If you wanted to come in!… You could have just knocked!” Tamarack chuckled behind her hand, it always made her a little giddy when you would stand below her window like some Shakespearean love story.

“Nah! This is quick, just sit up there and listen!” You gave the ginger a thumbs up before pulling out a bulky boombox that may be older than some of the adults you guys knew.

“Pfft, What are you doing?” Tamarack kept laughing.

“I am going to sing something!!!” You yelled up before you pressed played and let the music play out a little.

Tamarack’s laughter quieted down at that, she paused for a moment before asking.

“Are you trying to serenade me?”

You also paused before answering. “Yeah, that's basically it”

You then lowered the volume of the old boombox and began to sing along with the song’s melody. You didn’t lose eye contact while you sang to her, so this moment felt special and intimate.

Tamarack put a hand to her cheek and watched down with an increasingly growing blush on her cheeks.

She listened to you singing to her and thought quietly to herself. ‘She didn’t deserve such an adorable gesture from you. You were way too good for her. You probably were…doing.. this.. to ..be ..n..ice-‘

Her self-deprecating thoughts were slowly drowned out by your singing, It was sweet of you. After all, Tamarack did love your singing.

#olnf tamarack #tamarack baumann x reader #tamarack baumann x mc #olnf mc #olnf #olnf qiu #our life now and forever #orion4ever #our life tamarack #our life qiu #qiu lin x mc #qiu lin x reader #qiu lin #fanfic #gb patch games #gb patch

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kidcosmonaut · 1 year ago

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I’m at One With the Silence — Luke Castellan x f!Reader — Part One

Description: Luke learns sign language in order to get to know you, the silent, angry daughter of Apollo. Warnings: canon-typical violence, injury Word Count: 1.2k A/N: The reader character in this fic is mute and uses ASL! Descriptions of signs will be used, but it's super duper hard to describe hand signs with text, and I'm not a fluent signer myself, so don't use this as a learning device. Also, I have no idea how many parts this will be yet. Let's say three? Four, maybe.

Part One ☆ Part Two →

Luke wasn’t generally one to people-watch, but this was… a sight.

Your hands were balled into fists as you stormed out of Apollo’s cabin, the sound of a dozen talented singers battling for supremacy spilling out behind you. You were saying — mouthing — something, your lips moving a mile a minute. You cut through the center of camp like hellhounds were on your ass and, as you approached the edge of a hill, bent down to pick up… a pile of pebbles.

Luke watched. Maybe it was the anger in him that enjoyed the anger in you. Maybe he was just curious what your problem was, or what you meant to do with the pebbles. Maybe he liked what the sunset did to your face. He watched.

You began tossing — no, hurling — the tiny rocks at the sky. The sun, he realized; you were looking right at it, a feat only the children of Apollo could pull off without going blind. You were throwing rocks at the sun.

Not hard to figure out the meaning of that.

Your lips kept moving as you attempted this small act of violence against your father, your jaw wild as though you were shouting, and when you ran out of pebbles to throw, you’d move your hands, too, as though by sweeping them wider, you could sign louder. And then you’d dip down again, scoop up more, and repeat.

If Apollo cared at all, if he even noticed his daughter’s rage, he didn’t show it. The sun kept setting, and no one came.

The gods were deaf to their children. Luke knew that better than anyone.

He kept watching, even as you tired of throwing rocks at gods and shuffled off — still away from your cabin, he noted. Not tired enough to go back there.

He didn’t know why you were angry.

Oh, he could guess. It couldn’t have been easy, the fall from grace; going from your father’s favorite child — the gods all picked favorites, it was only the less honest ones who pretended that wasn’t true — to just another in the pile mustn’t have felt good, especially for you, the demigod who gave everything.

But was that it? Was that why you hated your father? Because Hades had silenced you?

Your voice had been beautiful, for whatever ‘had been’ was worth. Luke had only heard you sing once before it was ripped from you, but he remembered being mesmerized.

You were fourteen then, too. It was your second — maybe third, he wasn’t sure, he didn’t know you personally — summer at Camp Halfblood, and his first. He’d been shy, not that anyone remembered that now, and he hadn’t spoken to much of anyone other than those who slept in Hermes cabin, let alone pretty girls with older, meaner boyfriends. But he’d been dragged to a bonfire party by an older brother of his, and you were there, with your guitar and your sunbeam smile.

Luke had never liked old music. His mother had all these dusty records that she’d put on and dance to like they were the only things that made sense, but they never made sense to him. If the lyrics had meaning, he didn’t get them, or at least couldn’t relate, not like the nu metal he’d ripped onto his mp3 player.

But you were singing something that night, a Prince song he’d heard before, and on your lips, the words made sense. They were beautiful, even.

He could still see it, the light flickering across your face, your fingers moving fast as light against the strings. You were talented with your guitar, too, though he hadn’t caught sight or sound of the thing since the quest that took your voice, either. The way you played reminded him of the mariachi bands he’d seen on the New York subways — hard to believe a person could pluck so fast.

And you sang. He could still hear it, too — When Doves Cry. It was different, of course, acoustic and melancholy, but the song was the same.

He must have been staring. You must have noticed.

You were coming towards him. He didn’t think anything of it at first; you twirled, you danced, you walked.

“Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside.”

And then you were in front of him, so close, and looking him in the eye, and his breath caught. You seemed to almost smirk at that.

“You’ve got the butterflies all tied up. Don’t make me chase you,” you sang, to him. “Even doves have pride.”

And then you turned away from him, like it had been a blip, like you had never been looking at him at all. You danced on.

“How could you just leave me standin’, alone in a world that’s so cold? Maybe I’m just too demandin’—” you grinned there, head turned up to the sky— “maybe I’m just like my father, too bold.”

And then your eyes changed, cast out to the lake, like your mind was elsewhere. “Maybe I’m just like my mother, she’s never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cry.”

The next day, you embarked on your quest. You did well, too — returned a week and a half later with the item you were sent to steal back from Hades. Hades the place, it turned out, but not the god himself; it was Persephone who had stolen one of your father's precious sunbeams. She'd missed the sunlight in her months down below, she told you, and took it to keep herself warm. An understandable desire, certainly, but it'd lead to snow in the Sahara and summer blizzards in Boston. She gave it back over without a fight, but her husband hadn't smiled upon you sneaking into his domain.

If it weren’t for one of his furies catching you just outside the barrier and digging its claws into your throat, they’d have marked it down as a flawless victory.

The staff managed to save your life, but not your vocal chords. When summer came to an end, they said they commended you for your sacrifice, as though you’d had a choice.

Maybe it really wasn’t that big a deal; half the kids in camp were willing to die in service of the gods, and given that you’d collected more quests than beads, you were probably in that number. But then, dying is different than surviving with a disability. Not worse, but different. What kid actually considers the limb when they’re risking life and limb? What risks would one take if they had to live with the consequences?

Worse yet, as far as he could tell, your daddy never called you back afterwards. No ‘thank you’s for the maimed daughter, no more gifts. Insult to injury, used and discarded.

He’d throw rocks at the guy, too.

Which brought him back to that moment, alone in the settling darkness. You were gone by then, off somewhere, likely pushing your anger aside for something you considered more productive, though Luke couldn’t begin to guess what that would be. He didn’t know you, still.

He might like to, though. Perhaps the two of you could be… allies. That thing inside him that burned, that he hid… he could, potentially, share it with someone who felt the same.

Feel free to reply or send an ask to join my taglist!

#☆ — story #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #reader insert #☆ — i'm at one with the silence

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hornkerling · 2 months ago

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(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend. I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter.

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need.

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour.

“Well observed.”

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question.

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face.

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim.

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible.

(“You always assume that, sweet.”

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports.

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense.

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone. “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else.

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it.

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought.

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.)

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear.

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address,

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.”

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour.

“Can you teach me how to spit?”

“I’m sorry, kitten?”

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love me, Hawke.”

“Always true.”

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft.

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.”

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says.

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch.

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.”

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.”

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past.

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists.

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away.

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while.

“I know.”

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark.

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.”

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace.

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.”

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his.

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath.

“You love them very much, don’t you?”

Fenris squirms,

“Yes.”

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.”

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat.

“Yes,” Isabela says.

“No,” says Fenris.

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob.

“It’s her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs.

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.”

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.”

“No,” Isabela says.

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world.

#my fic #liadan hawke #isabela #fenris #merrill #ot3 #compersion #a word I didn't even know when I first wrote this in 2016 or so #dragon age worldstate #fenhawkebela #with a brief aside of Fenris and Merrill in furious accord because it's all I've ever wanted

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